


Escape - A "Yes, Tom" One-Shot

by riddlemetitillatedhiddles (ninecats)



Series: Yes, Tom [27]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Anal Plug, Dom/sub, F/M, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninecats/pseuds/riddlemetitillatedhiddles





	Escape - A "Yes, Tom" One-Shot

"Elizabeth…" Tom's lilting voice floated its way into my dream, wrapping around my subconscious and tugging it gently towards the light of day. "Elizabeth…"

"Mmm…" Gradually adjusting to cognizance, I waited for a moment, expecting to feel the familiar pressure against my entrance that typically roused me so early. At least an arm wrapping around me. Something. When I didn't, I was a tad perplexed. Sensing him behind me, I shifted my hips back, pressing my ass up against his crotch, assuming that was what he wanted. But it wasn't, and he retreated from me a little.

"Come on, darling, wake up, I have plans for us." _Plans? Did I hear him say plans?_ I sighed with annoyance. We were on vacation, I thought. It was barely light out and he had plans? Usually when Tom woke me at this ungodly hour, it was for a much more _enjoyable_ reason.

Finally awake, I stretched lazily and turned over. As I readjusted my eyes, I noticed he was already showered and dressed. "Tom… " I whined softly, "I thought this was supposed to be a vacation."

Leaning down, he kissed me on the forehead. "Elizabeth, this _is_ a vacation, but that doesn't mitigate your responsibilities. So when I tell you to do something, I expect your obedience. Now get up and get ready." 

The tone of his voice had grown increasingly terse. Despite this, I thought perhaps I could distract him. It was barely 6, after all. The weather was rather blustery and slightly chilly, and the bed still so warm in my under-the-covers cocoon; the last thing I wanted to do was go on some hike or whatever physically exertive outing Tom had planned. Scooting closer, I slid my hands underneath his shirt, my fingers lightly tickling his abdomen, one just sneaking under the waistband of his jeans. I pouted, "Come on, Tom, wouldn't you rather…"

That was not what he wanted to hear. Throwing the covers off, he curled his left hand around to the small of my back and rolled me onto my stomach, holding me flat as he began to spank me. "No. I wouldn't. I'd rather you obey me." His hand moved quickly and efficiently, and it only took a few seconds for him to reduce me to tears. Tom easily let loose with 15 or more swats within just that short time frame. His lithe body was deceptively strong and he could spank for literally hours if he felt the need. 

"Okay! I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry! Please!" I begged, and he stopped, removing his hand from my back and letting me sit up.

"Get ready; you have 30 minutes."

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," I sniffled, pouting silently.

"Yes, darling, I'm certain you are. Keep in mind you now have 29 minutes. If I were you, I would not test me again today. You've put me in a rather cross mood." Tom stood up, running his fingers through his hair and exhaling heavily.

"Yes, sir," I responded dutifully but he was already out the door, heading downstairs. I didn't think I had upset him quite so much but he didn't even kiss me after the spanking, and usually he always did. For whatever reason, he had reacted particularly badly on this morning. I couldn't imagine why, seeing as we had had such a wonderful time the night previous. It was a portend, for sure. In more ways than one.

 

****

 

After getting ready as quickly as possible, I grabbed my jacket and joined Tom downstairs. I was determined to be perfectly obedient for the remainder of the day. He took my hand and smiled, pleased that I was ready on time. "Much better darling," he purred, pulling me closer and kissing me chastely on the lips. Playfully patting my ass, he directed me out the door, and we were on our way.

We walked along the beach for about an hour and a half, hand in hand, watching the sun begin its daily routine, opening its arms across the surface of the ocean below. The air was so clean, and the day so clear, the sea and sky blurred into an infinite horizon of colorful gauzy swaths. There was a bit of a breeze, and the chill made me shiver, but Tom held me close as we took in the beautiful scenery. Despite my initial reluctance, it was absolutely idyllic, the light of the sunrise illuminating the entire beach with a rosy glow. Away from every little bit of stress, it was just us. Together, barely even talking, we just submerged ourselves in each other's presence, enjoying that sense of ease that exists between lovers when they find such a wonderful equilibrium.

There was a little coffee shop within walking distance of both the beach and the house, so we stopped there for breakfast and then headed back. Warmed by the coffee and Tom's arm around my shoulders, I forgot all about Sophie, all about the possibility of an impending separation, all about our upcoming announcement; for the first time in a while, I completely relaxed. Our pace languid, hands playful, we ambled along the path that led us towards the garden outside the house. It felt as if nothing could go wrong in our little world. And then…

_My phone rang._

I jumped, my entire body tensing, a weird hiccup noise leaping from my throat. Honestly, I had forgotten all about the cell phone. I had hidden it in an inner pocket of my jacket, and since making the endlessly stupid decision to defy Tom and bring it anyway, I hadn't thought about it at all. Apparently, in my haste I had conveniently forgotten to turn the accursed ringer off as well. Tom stopped abruptly, his arm tightening around me as he stared straight ahead, not even glancing towards me.

The incessant ringing got louder but I was frozen, unable to even form a cogent thought, let alone make the decision to act. Tom didn't say a word. He exhaled loudly, moving the hand around my shoulder to the nape of my neck and gripping it hard. With the other hand, he reached inside my coat and removed the offending device from its hiding spot. Answering the call, he spoke in mostly gruff monosyllables: "Yes… No, she isn't. Yes. No. Yes. Alright. Thanks." He turned the phone off, completely this time, and placed it in his own jacket pocket. Tightening his grasp on me, he pushed me forward rather gruffly, guiding me towards the house.

I felt awful. And terrified. Already annoyed by my behavior that morning, there was no way Tom would let this go with a light chastisement or a simple spanking. This was a blatant, unequivocal defiance of his explicit orders. I'd broken rules before, sure, but I couldn't remember ever having so flagrantly disobeyed him. It was as if I'd thumbed my nose at his authority. Thinking back, I couldn't even remember what I thought was so important that I needed to bring the phone. I hadn't even looked at it once since we left London. My mind racing, stomach churning, I couldn't fathom why I had let myself get in this situation.

Tom's continuing silence echoed in my ears, and I started to shake. His fingernails dug into the side of my neck as he walked faster, directing me with little shoves. Tunnel-vision took over. All I could think of was the wonderful night and romantic morning we'd had, now starkly contrasted with what I knew I was about to endure. Tom's refusal to even yell at me only heightened my anxiety. My thoughts were incoherent, mostly a jumble of emotions, as the fear started to seep into my reasoning. It wasn't that I thought I didn't deserve to be punished. It wasn't even that I wanted to stop, because I could, very easily. Once we got inside, all I had to do was tell him. I was always allowed to stop or pause at any time as long as there was a valid reason and I didn't over-use it. He had a million other ways to punish me anyway, he just typically always picked some kind of spanking or whipping. So really, my reaction was definitely illogical. But the fight or flight response kicked into overdrive and I lost all rational thought.

I panicked; I ran away. 

Ducking out from under his grip, I bolted down the path. I could hear Tom sigh, a mixture of exasperation and utter frustration. Sprinting towards the cottage, I burst in through the door, running frantically up the stairs. He was on my heels within a few strides, despite my head start. Obviously not thinking clearly, I tried to reach the bathroom door, even though I'd only box myself in further. Just as my hand almost touched the knob, I could feel him fist my hair and pull me back towards him. I yelped; he still didn't say a word. I needed him, _wanted him_ , to yell at me, but he refused.

He pulled me towards the bedroom and tossed me face first onto the bed while he retrieved his bag. Placing the leather satchel on the bed, he pulled out a length of rope and finally spoke, his voice detached and chillingly even, "Stand up. Strip completely." I slid off the bed and obeyed, taking my clothes and shoes off as quickly as possible. I wanted to apologize, to say something, but I didn't know what to say and I didn't want to upset him even more. Honestly, I was still too scared to speak anyway. I was even too scared to cry. I just trembled. Tom had never had so few things to say to me. He was normally so verbose, especially when he was trying to teach me a lesson. The uncharacteristic silence continued to increase my anxiety until it was at a feverish pitch. 

"Turn to face me. Hands." Keeping my eyes down, I put my hands wrist to wrist in front of me and waited while he tied them snugly with the rope. Once secured, he tugged me towards the bedroom's door. "Kneel. Back to the door." I complied, kneeling so my toes were touching the door. The cold wooden floor was uncomfortable on my knees, but it was only going to get worse. Throwing the free end over the top of the door, Tom pulled it taut, forcing my arms above and slightly behind my head. He tied it around the knob and without another word, walked out the door and down the stairs.

Shifting gingerly, I tried to find a comfortable position but it was to no avail. My shoulders already ached and my breasts jutted out awkwardly. The converted barn was chilly, and the floor beneath me didn't have even the benefit of a rug. Naked and embarrassed, I had no idea what Tom had planned for me. And the longer he was gone, the more I started to shake until I was virtually vibrating with trepidation. After at least 10 minutes in this position, the tears started. I couldn't help it. And once they began, they were unending.

Finally Tom returned but even still he didn't speak. He strode in and sat on the bed, angling himself so that I had an unobstructed view. That was when I noticed he had something in his hand. It was a branch. At first, it didn't dawn on me what that meant. Until, glaring at me, he began to carefully clean it off, pulling off all the dead leaves and smaller stems. That was when I realized: it was a switch. Tom had showed me a video a week or so previous of a sub being punished by having to prepare a switch for her punishment. Apparently, Tom didn't think that was enough to instill dread in me, so I had to sit and watch _him_ get it ready instead. Torturous. And in my mind, much, much worse. The act of preparing the switch would keep part of the brain active, which would alleviate stress. I had no such luxury. All I could think about was how much it would hurt when it first made contact, and if it would actually draw blood. 

I couldn't look at him. At first, I could only watch the floor, catching glimpses in my periphery of what he was doing. But after a minute or two, Tom decided that was not sufficient. "Look at me," he barked, so I did. My tears somewhat blurred the view, but the effect was chilling nonetheless. It took a good ten additional minutes. Tom took his time. Slowly, painstakingly, he ripped each tiny leaf off, then every last little twig, until he finally took a small pocket knife and ran it lightly along the sides, making sure it was relatively smooth. By the time he was finished, I was inconsolable, crying like a little girl. My chest heaved with each sob, making my position even more unbearable. 

Unable to stand the silence any longer, I tried to say, "I'm sorry, sir," but it came out as a choking, garbled cough. 

He didn't acknowledge my attempt at an apology. He simply got up and untied the rope, then jerked it towards him. "Get up," he directed, his voice cold and distant.

"Please, sir, just let me…" Before I could even finish, he turned around and smacked me across the cheek. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to get my attention.

"One more word, Elizabeth. One utterance. One whimper. One fucking sound. And not only will you be gagged, you'll spend the rest of our lovely vacation standing. Do you understand me? You felt the need to _explicitly_ refuse to follow my directions over something completely inconsequential. I think it would behoove you to _at the very least_ take your punishment without such blatant and ridiculous histrionics. Yes?" He stared at me but I didn't dare answer. I knew he wasn't close to finished, so I bit my lip as the verbal onslaught continued. "Your behavior was absolutely egregious, _darling_ ; your punishment will follow suit. Now. Are you ready? Or shall we be here the rest of the weekend?"

I waited barely a second, just to ensure he was actually done this time, and then I replied, my voice timid but clear, "I'm ready, sir."

"You are going to stand in front of the bed. You are going to lean over and put your hands on the bed. You will stay in this position. I will finish when I feel you've learned your lesson and not a moment sooner. And you will _keep your mouth shut._ " Each word of his final statement was punctuated, as if it were its own directive. Each one made me cringe. 

While Tom stood behind me, I turned around and placed my bound hands on the bed. I knew this would not be a punishment I'd soon forget. Not only was he using a switch, the pain of which I'd only read about, but the position was terrible. I had no idea how I could stay standing up with no real support. All of it combined to form such incredible anticipation I wasn't sure I could take it. I almost stopped him, but instead, I tried to focus. Attempting to slow my breathing, I relaxed momentarily, but Tom didn't give me even a second before he started. 

The first blow was so intense I thought it broke the skin already. I gasped, but I didn't say a word and I didn't cry out. He didn't pause in between; he gave me a good ten or 15 consecutive blows in a few mere seconds. Just brutal. I could barely keep my arms straight, as they kept shaking violently. At first my legs were fine, but soon, they too were buckling. The sound of the switch traveling through the air en route to my body only exacerbated the fear, causing tears to flow in rivers down my already-flushed cheeks. 

But the pain. The pain was sharper than any other I'd experienced. I wasn't sure if it was because of the flexibility of the wood, the size of the branch, or a combination of all (or none), but it was shockingly vicious. It stung terribly. The sensation seemed localized in one area and didn't dissipate at all. And the sound. The sound actually made the pain worse, because every single time I heard that _whoosh_ I knew it was coming, and no matter what, I couldn't make myself relax and just take it. Instead, I would tense up, making the pain even more distressing.

After about 25 or 30, I couldn't keep my arms up any longer, and I collapsed forward a bit, my forehead resting on the mattress. Tom didn't say a word, he just began to hit the backs of my thighs instead of my buttocks, then down to my calves, until I managed to straighten my arms back out. Then he resumed his previous routine, until finally, I just could not withstand another blow. It felt like he'd drawn blood, but I couldn't be sure. We were close to 45, at least, although honestly I lost count his pace was so quick and I wasn't thinking straight. I just started to sob, huge, loud, convulsive sobs. Turning back, but leaving my hands perfectly still, I begged him, stuttering and wailing, "Please, sir. I am s-so sorry. _Please._ "

"Stand up and face me." Breathing a sigh of relief, I stumbled a bit, but managed to turn and face him. His gaze was razor-sharp, his face still impassive. In a matter-of-fact tone, he demanded, "Why?"

"I… I'm sorry for being disrespectful and for…"

He exhaled audibly, his irritation obvious. With a wave of his finger he commanded, "Turn back around."

I started to cry again, loudly, terrified, but I obeyed, and resumed my position. He only hit me maybe three or four more times, but it was almost worse. Like reopening closed wounds, each one seemed to cut right through my tender and sore flesh. He paused. "Are you ready to give me a real apology now?"

He was right. I was parroting phrases, not being heartfelt. And the truth was, I did feel terrible. Guilty. Disappointed in myself. Facing him, I began my penitence, sincerely this time, interrupted only by my intermittent sobs, "Please forgive me, sir. I am so sorry for completely flaunting your authority and showing an utter lack of respect for you and for myself. I don't have a reason that will suffice, I simply was not thinking and I am so sorry. More than anything, I cannot believe I ruined our weekend."

"Alright that will do. You haven't ruined the weekend yet. Kneel. You can show me exactly how contrite you actually are." 

"Yes, sir, thank you sir," I fell onto my knees in front of him as he opened his trousers just enough to pull his already-erect cock free. 

"Don't thank me yet. Your punishment is far from over," he remarked, although I did not care. I was so grateful the worst of the ordeal was over and we were now on our way towards reconciling. 

Using the tip of my tongue, I lapped up the pre-cum from his swollen tip, my lips closing around it and kissing tenderly. I savored the taste of his body. His ejaculate, his cock, his skin, his sweat, everything tasted exquisite and I reveled in it. Gradually I worked my way down, opening my mouth wider, slipping his length farther into my mouth until he jutted up against the pliant resistance of my throat. "Good girl, that's fantastic. Oh god, there…" Rocking his hips, just barely at first, but gaining momentum as excitement took over, he started to lose himself in the act, murmuring little words of encouragement. "Suck harder, ahh! That's brilliant… Yes, there darling… Mmm, yes." His hand on the back of my head, he forced me to stay put, holding me steady with his cock lodged in my throat. I refused to gag, refused to give in to my body, pushing my tongue out farther so I could take it more easily. When he finally moved, I coughed, but he was pleased. 

"You did a good job, but we aren't finished. Now turn back around. Same position as before, only this time your forearms on the bed." The spark of fear flashed across my eyes, so he reassured me somewhat, "Your whipping is over. The punishment is not."

"Y-yes sir." I should have known it was not the end of it. Aside from the lies I told Tom about Michael, this was pretty much the worst thing I'd ever done. 

Tom grabbed the bag again but took it out of my frame of view. The skin along my buttocks was burning, and I definitely wasn't looking forward to Tom rubbing up against it while he fucked me. But I deserved it, and it was definitely commensurate with what I had done. I just wasn't sure what this other aspect of my punishment would be. 

"Alright darling. You're doing a wonderful job." He ran his hands along my back then down to my slit, running one long finger along my wetness. I couldn't help but moan and he made a little half-groan when I did. Suddenly I could feel some cold lubricant along my other entrance, and he pushed something inside my ass, slowly, gently. It wasn't very big, and I was so used to Tom's size by now the tiny object barely even registered. I assumed it was an anal plug, as he'd mentioned the possibility before. When he was finished, he stood back and admired his work, grabbing his phone to take a quick photo, then mumbling quietly, "Oh darling, it's perfect."

After setting the phone down, he returned and began to rub his tip along my slit. "Sweetheart, relax. Arch your back. Legs spread just a tad more. Brilliant." He entered me slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried completely inside. It hurt. I was wet, and ready, and obviously willing, but I was still a tad tender from the night before, and added to my thrashing, everything was sore. My body was filling with endorphins though, and as Tom began to thrust, I quickly opened up, pleasure overtaking the pain. "Shh… no sounds, pet."

"Yes, sir…" The words became moans in my throat as he fucked me patiently, his thrusts long and deep, his aim perfectly against my spot. Tom's hands found my hips, fingers gripping tightly, and he began to thrust harder, faster, the intensity building. I couldn't help it; my orgasm kept teasing, flitting about, and I knew it was close. Working hard to control it, I focused instead on the waning discomfort, knowing there was probably no chance Tom was going to allow me to orgasm.

Indeed, he quickly read my body: "You will _not_ come, darling. At all," he warned, his voice stern as his pace quickened even more, so I redoubled my efforts, trying to concentrate on being remorseful. It only took a few more minutes and Tom came, grunting, collapsing on top of me and pushing me down onto the bed. He stayed that way for a while, occasionally squeezing his hips, riding his orgasm out as I waited patiently for him to finish. 

When he was sated, he pulled from me and rolled over onto his back, his hand lying haphazardly on my waist. We stayed silent for a few minutes, then Tom leaned over and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Elizabeth. And I forgive you, darling. Now get up, we have other plans today."

"Yes, sir. But can I take the thing out yet?" The butt plug, which at first hadn't even registered, had begun to feel a bit odd, and I was so ready to remove it.

"No, darling. That is going to be the remainder of your punishment. You will wear that until tonight. I'll let you know when you can take it out."

My mouth opened, and I started to say something, but I stopped, instead replying with a subdued, "Yes, sir." This I was not looking forward to. I had read plenty of other sub's accounts of wearing them, sometimes for even as long as a whole day, or more. But anal was really not my favorite thing. I was more accustomed to it now, as Tom loved it, but there were times it was still difficult. I'd only had the tiny plug in for maybe 20 minutes and already I was slightly uncomfortable.

Tom got off the bed and gave me his hand, helping me up. He kissed me, softly, then reassured me, "Don't worry darling. You can do it." Trying to walk to the bathroom, I wasn't so sure. I went to look at myself in the mirror. There were darkened welts criss-crossing all across my ass, and a few down the backs of my legs, but, thankfully, no blood. I gingerly touched my flesh, inhaling sharply as I did.

"Oh darling. You know I wouldn't make you bleed." Tom came up and held me, kissing my cheek as we both looked at my reflection in the mirror. "But you definitely deserved each one of these marks, you do understand that, right?"

"Yes, sir. I deserved that and probably more. Thank you for my punishment, sir. I needed it." I looked at him from beneath lowered lids, showing my complete subservience and compliance, and he smiled sweetly, causing my heart to swell with relief.

"Now move just a bit…" he cooed, backing up with his arms still around me so that I ended up bending forward at the waist. I looked over my shoulder, and there it was: the anal plug. It was like a bright pink, jeweled dot between the fleshy globes of my behind. Admittedly, it was pretty. I still had misgivings as to whether or not I could keep it in the rest of the day. It was still so early, and Tom had more "plans". As I started to get dressed, all I knew was I hoped they didn't involve more walking. 

 


End file.
